


Mark

by energist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: BDSM, Barebacking, Demon!Dean, Dom/sub, Dominance, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-13
Updated: 2017-03-18
Packaged: 2018-01-24 13:43:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 21,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1607231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/energist/pseuds/energist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Knight of Hell!Dean and Cas have some rough-ass sex</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, I was going to write a fic for the SPN/J2 BigBang on the premise that the Mark of Cain would turn Dean into a Knight of Hell, but the show and my fic started diverging too much so I quit, but I'd written one of the sex scenes by that point, and frankly I thought it was too hot to not post.
> 
> So although this can stand alone as a demon!Dean/Cas fic, it was originally intended as part of a larger work.

As Dean was walking back to the car his phone starting buzzing in his pocket, something that nearly never happened anymore. Sam didn’t wanna talk to him, Bobby was dead, Garth was radio silent, Charlie was in Oz, and no one else had his number. He pulled it out, glancing down to read the caller ID; ‘Steve’. He sneered at it a moment before answering. “What do you want, Cas?”

                “To speak with you, Dean. That’s why I’m calling your phone.”

              Dean rolled his eyes. “I meant why. I haven’t heard a thing from you in months and now you just decide to call me?” The question ended in a near snarl.

                “I…” he trailed off, unsure of how to respond. “I was keeping watch over Sam. Given what he’s been through I thought it prudent…”

                “Oh, so I’m not worth your protection now?”

                “No Dean, that’s not it. You’re good at holding your own, and Sam’s weakened; it’s not that I don’t think you need me, just that I feel Sam has a greater need.”

                “So what did you actually call me for?”

                “To see if you’ve made progress tracking down Gadreel or finding a way to kill Abaddon.” He didn’t know about Dean getting the Mark of Cain or searching for the First Blade obviously, and Dean wasn’t all too keen on letting an angel know he bore the mark of the first murderer.

                “Not really. Gadreel’s practically fallen off the planet and I can’t find shit on killing a Knight of Hell. Shouldn’t you and your angel friends know how to off one of them anyway?”

                “If only it were that easy. Any angels unfortunate to have faced a Knight head on died and the Knights seemed to have just disappeared over time.”

                “Great.”

                “Dean, there’s something else I wanted to tell you.” He paused, almost as if unsure saying it would be a good idea. “I think it’s time you and Sam reconciled. You’re better hunters when you’re together, and more importantly, you need each other. You’re family.”

                Click. The line went dead and Cas’ phone beeped once. He pulled it away from his head and looked at the screen. ‘Call Ended’. He tapped the button to redial and it rang twice before it went to voicemail. He realized that Dean didn’t want to talk to him now. He frowned slightly at the phone.

                He missed Dean. He’d grown close to both Winchesters over the years. In fact he was closer to them than he had been to any of his fellow angels throughout the existence of time and saw them as his family. His sense of duty to protect his family meant he had to keep near Sam. He knew Sam was a force to be reckoned with just like his brother, but Gadreel’s time in his body had really weakened him and Castiel’s attempts at healing him were working, but they took time. It was a gentle procedure and rushing could just cause more harm to Sam.

                Dean crammed his phone back into his pants pocket and gritted his teeth. True, he wanted to see Sam and Cas again, but he wasn’t going to try and apologize to Sam. Hell, the word ‘sorry’ wasn’t in his vocabulary. He knew he’d fucked up, but he’d also saved Sam’s life, to Dean, the good cancelled out the bad by far, and it’s not like he could have known Ezekiel would really turn out to be that dick Gadreel. He’d been told Ezekiel was a good angel, hell Cas himself had told him so, not that he’d known of the deception either. He felt as though apologizing would mean he thought what he was doing was wrong, but all the bad to come from it was an accident.

                Dean wished they could get through their problems like they always did; a bottle of whiskey, a few seconds of yelling followed by ‘bitch’ and ‘jerk’, and maybe a punch or two. But he knew it wouldn’t be so easy now. What could he do now though?

                It was another month before Cas tried to call him again. Dean had somehow managed to not spend the time spiraling into a month long drunken stupor, but he’d been determined from the start to not let his issues with Sam turn him into an alcoholic mess. He’d spent the month doing as Cain had told him and worked on his control. He’d done a few more hunts of low level inept demons trying to worm their way into churches or book clubs and in one case, hiding as a couple of strippers. (Dean wasn’t all too happy when he had to destroy Candy and Diamond, but it was that or be killed by evil hotties.)

                He’d gained near full control of his powers, able to call them forth at will. His violent raging instincts took over while fighting, but as soon as he was done with the demons he’d bring himself back to normal in an instant. But when he checked his phone and saw that it was Cas calling, he snarled and his eyes went black just for a moment before he regained control. He may have learned control in a fighting situation, but he’d tried to keep Sam and Cas and everything that might lead to any semblance of emotion in him off his mind.

                He took a deep breath before answering, having taken the moment to debate whether he was going to send the call to voicemail or not. “Cas.” The greeting came off in an accusatory tone.

                “Dean.” Cas sounded apologetic, almost meek.

                “Didn’t get the hint last time you called?”

                “Dean, I… I need to speak to you. In person.” He sounded worried.

                “Why?”

                “I’ve heard some whispers. Whispers that we need to discuss.”

                “Like?”

                “I’ve overheard some angels saying that you’ve gained some… worrisome abilities.” Dean clenched his teeth as Cas continued, “I haven’t mentioned any of it to Sam for fear that he’d only become more angry with you if they proved true. But… we need to talk about it. Especially if it’s true.”

                “Oh no, heaven forbid I learn to fight demons even better than before!” Dean retorted sarcastically.

                “Dean. They were saying you’ve become a demon.”

                “I really don’t need to get your approval for anything I do or become.”

                “Dean, this is a big deal. Allow me to come speak to you in person or I will track you down and we’ll speak anyway. I’ve done you the favor of keeping Sam’s anger toward you from growing so the least you could do is spare some time for me.”

                Dean snarled audibly at the threat; he’d never taken well to threats. “Fine,” he growled. “I’ll text you my address,” he said through half grit teeth before hanging up and starting a text. He typed out the address for where he was staying, The Sea Foam Motel and hit ‘send’. Less than thirty seconds later he heard the flap of wings behind him and turned around, his face coming within inches of Cas’.

                “Dean.”

                “Cas.”

                “We-“ before he could get further Dean grabbed a hold of Cas by the throat and slammed him into the wall.

                Dean looked him straight in the eye, his lips curling. “Don’t you ever, EVER, threaten me.” His eyes filled black as the last word left his lips. Cas’ hand reached up and grabbed onto Dean’s wrist, clutching for dear life. He stared back into Dean’s hellish eyes looking betrayed and hurt. He opened his mouth to speak to no avail and dug his fingers into Dean’s wrist. Dean let go of him and he dropped to the floor.

                Cas looked up at him while rubbing his neck to find his eyes had gone back to normal, but the anger was still there. “Dean….” He started hoarsely. “You…”

                “You wanted to talk? Then talk. Try forming a full sentence, hmm?” He sat down on one of the beds, still holding to his tradition of getting two even though he’d given up on Sam showing up unannounced.

                Cas pulled himself off the ground and sat on the other bed across from Dean. Dean stared at him sternly. “You became a demon… Did you, did you die?” He sounded afraid. Not afraid of what Dean would do to him, but afraid of what had happened to Dean.

                “No.”

                “Then how?”

                “This.” Dean rolled up his sleeve to show Dean the Mark of Cain.

                Cas was taken aback. “How did you get the Mark of Cain? What did you do?”

                “Went and saw Cain himself. He was supposed to have a weapon that can kill a Knight of Hell, and you need the mark to make it work, so he gave it to me. Too bad he didn’t have the weapon too… now Crowley’s out looking for it.”

                “You’re working with Crowley?”

                “Enemy of my enemy is my friend.”

              Cas sighed, he had to admit it made sense when put that way. “The Mark doesn’t explain how you’re a… a demon.”

                “That’s because I’m not exactly a demon, Cas. The Mark made me into a Knight of Hell.”

                “What?” Cas managed to sound even more in shock than before.

                “Cain said the Mark came with a cost and a great burden; too bad he didn’t tell me until after it’d changed me just what the cost was.”

                “We’ve got to reverse it!”

                “Not just yet. I’m killing those son of a bitch demons easier than ever, and I’ve still gotta take down Abaddon. Besides, I’m not even sure it can be reversed.”

                “Sam can’t know.”

                “Why? Cause he’ll get mad? Well news flash! He’s been mad at me for months!”

                “If he finds out what you’ve become, he could try to hunt you down for all we know.”

                “Pff, not without the weapon he won’t. It’s the only thing that can kill a Knight.”

                “Dean, I-”

                “Shut up Cas, Jesus. You wanna fix me, then go out and find something instead of sitting here bitching about it!”

                “Dean…”

                “Damnit Cas, you can’t can you? You’re too busy keeping track of Sam and not doing jack shit.” He stood and pushed Cas backwards onto the bed, a hand on either side of his head.

                “I’ve been healing him! What have you done?!” As soon as the words left his lips he regretted them. Looking up at Dean he could see his eyes fill black again as he growled.

                “And you can’t even do that right. Some angel…”

                “I’m sorry, Dean. I didn’t mean to sound so cross.”

                “It’s too late for an apology.” He growled at him again. “Just get the fuck out of here.” He climbed off him to let him leave, feeling generous to give him the chance to leave of his own accord.

                Cas sat still for a minute, looking hurt but eventually stood, not wanting to piss Dean off again. He left as always, teleporting away with the sound of flapping wings.

                Dean was still pissed, unsure of how to calm himself down now. He’d only practiced keeping control while fighting, not while emotional. He hadn’t exactly had much use for his emotions since he’d last seen Sam so the thought never crossed his mind.

                He figured his best bet would be to jack off; not exactly an elegant solution, but there it was. Holding Cas down had only made him half hard; he’d loved being a bit dominant in bed and it’d certainly been a while since he’d gotten laid. He figured going for some self love certainly couldn’t hurt and for all he knew getting off might help even out his emotions.

                He climbed onto his bed, undoing his pants, having already gotten hard by the time he’d laid down. He grabbed the tv remote from the bedside table, turning on the tv and going to the pay-per-view porn channel. He hesitate for a second before pushing the button to order ‘Busty Asian Beauties TV: Domming Asa’s Ass’ and throwing it back on the stand. Pushing down his pants and tight boxer briefs he wrapped a hand around his girthy dick. He stroked himself slowly, pausing after just a few strokes to thrust up into his hand, letting out a shallow breathy moan as he did.

                “Dean, please let me apologi-“ the abruptly stopping voice came from the foot of Dean’s bed. It was Cas, come back to try and make amends with Dean. He knew he’d risk angering Dean further, but he wanted to be able to talk to him. Maybe regain his trust enough to eventually bring he and Sam back together. Though that apparently wasn’t about to happen now.

                Dean pulled a knee up quickly to cover himself as he tried to stuff himself back in his pants. “Damnit Cas!”

                “I just wanted to apologize…” he was blushing slightly.

                “And I just wanted to jerk off!”

                “Dean…”

                He’d somehow been distracted enough to not go all demonic on Cas, but he was still angry. “You wanna apologize? Then help me out here.” He meant it sarcastically, but Cas was never one to understand sarcasm and that was never more apparent than now. He’d climbed onto the bed next to Dean, pushing his drawn in knee out of the way, slowly grasping Dean’s cock.

                “Cas, I didn’t-“ he cut his own sentence off with a soft moan, Cas having already started stroking.

                “You said you wanted my help.”

                “I was being sarcast- I didn’t mean like this!”

                “You don’t like it? Because it seems like-“

                He cut him off, “I like it, I just, What if I can’t control myself? You know, go all black eyes again. Besides, shouldn’t you be getting back to Sam instead of pulling a ‘City of Angels’?”

                “I’m not dragging the angel garrisons around…”

                Dean sighed, “Damnit Cas.”

                Cas’ eyes drifted toward the television, his attention caught by the sounds it was making in the silence that followed. “…Dean.”

                “Yeah?”

                “I want to try that.”

                “What?”

                “That woman on the tv seems to be enjoying herself, and we haven’t… you know since before Metatron…”

                “You wanna try getting dommed?” he raised an eyebrow.

                “If that’s what that’s called.”

                “There’s no way I’m going to be able to keep control if we do that.”

                “I don’t care.” Granted he’d probably come to care once Dean had him face down with his hands tied behind his back and was fucking him without mercy, but once Cas decided he wanted something he was determined to get it.

                “You’re sure? Because if it gets to be too much for you I might not be able to stop.”

                “That would… make it hotter.”

                Dean just stared at him. It made sense though, Cas was powerful but enjoyed bottoming for him; he once said he liked having a bit of the control taken from him and as a result let Dean do as he pleased.

               Dean smirked at him before grabbing the remote and shutting off the tv. The woman’s moans were a huge turn on, but he didn’t want to get distracted.

                He grabbed Cas’ wrist then grabbed his shoulder with the other hand and maneuvered him to his back, keeping his wrist held above his head on the pillow. He planted several soft kisses running up the side of his neck and to his ear. He let go of Cas’ wrist and let his hand run down his body to the growing bulge in the front of Cas’ pants. His kisses trailed along Cas’ jaw as his other hand ran through his hair, pulling his head back so Dean could start kissing his throat.

                Cas let out a breathy moan as Dean’s hand rubbed his crotch and he grinded against it softly. Dean’s lips travelled back up Cas’ jaw to his ear and Dean whispered into it, “Gonna be a good boy for me?” as he popped the button on Cas’ pants and slipped his hand inside.

                Cas whimpered, “Yes…”

                “That’s what I like to hear.” He bit Cas’ earlobe gently.

                Cas pushed up into Dean’s hand as he stroked him painfully slow, his hands reaching up to Dean’s back. Dean pulled his hands from Cas’ pants and hair and grabbed the lapels of Cas’ coat, sitting up and pulling Cas with him before forcefully pushing the coat off his shoulders and arms and throwing it onto the other bed. Dean then loosened the tie and slipped it over Cas’ head then undid the top button of his shirt before grabbing fistfuls of the fabric and simply ripping it open, tossing aside it and his suit jacket as soon as he’d pulled them both off.

                Cas tugged at Dean’s coat and plaid shirt, getting them off with Dean’s help before he pushed Cas onto his back again. He went in to kiss him again, this time going for his mouth as he started grinding his hips against Cas’. His hands slid up Dean’s back under his tshirt, his nails digging in slightly when Dean would make an especially hard grind.

                Dean’s tongue slipped into Cas’ mouth, both of them gliding across each other for a moment as one Dean’s hands tugged at Cas’ hair and the other slid up his torso where Dean thumbed at a pink nipple gently. Cas let out another breathy moan into Dean’s mouth making him grin. He thumbed at the nipple a little harder as he kept grinding, pulling his tongue back and grabbing Cas’ bottom lip between his teeth as he pulled his face away, pulling his lip with it. Cas arched his back and moaned more, digging his nails harder into Dean’s back. Dean let go of Cas’ lip and let go of Cas long enough to pull his tshirt up and over his head, throwing it to the floor.

                Dean grabbed Cas by the hips and rolled him so he was face down, pulling his ass up and grinding on it. His hands slid into Cas’ underwear, pulling them and his pants down to his knees as Dean’s continued grinding. Cas pushed back against him but Dean grabbed his hips and held him in place. “Patience, Cas.”

                He half-heartedly tried to push back against Dean’s grip but he didn’t budge. Dean growled at him. “Now stay still.” He let go of Cas and pulled his pants the rest of the way to his ankles, tugging them off with his shoes in one mass before pulling his own off too. Cas pushed his ass at him leading Dean to grab Cas’ hair and pull his head back, growling at him. “What did I say?”

                “To…” Cas struggled to speak between the pain of Dean pulling his hair and the stretch of his neck backwards.

                “To?”

                “To stay still…”

                “And you didn’t listen.” Dean let go and rolled Cas onto his back, crouching over him, their faces inches apart. “What happens to boys who don’t listen?”

                Cas opened his mouth to answer but Dean cut him off. “They get punished.” He climbed up to straddle Cas’ chest, his hard cock in front of his face. “Open up.” Cas stared at him and obeyed silently. Dean grabbed Cas’ hair and slowly slid into his mouth. Cas’ mouth was warm and damp, his lips felt like velvet as they slipped over the head of Dean’s cock and down the shaft as he pushed in deeper.

                Dean started pulling back before he’d even gotten half way in then pushed in again, groaning as he felt Cas lift his tongue to run up the underside of his shaft. “Fuck Cas…” he groaned more and pushed deeper, not stopping until Cas gagged a little. He pulled back then slid back to the same point, pulling Cas’ hair as he held still, waiting for his gag reflex to be triggered again. He tired quickly of the wait and slid deeper, making him gag again.

                He slipped out of Cas’ mouth and let go of his hair and grinned at him slyly. “On your knees.”

                “Why?”

                “For your punishment.” Somehow Cas thought that Dean making him gag a couple times constituted punishment, but even regular Dean wouldn’t dole out that lackluster of discipline.

                Dean moved aside and Cas pushed himself onto his knees. Dean stared at him looking disappointed.

                “Isn’t this what you told me to do, Dean?”

                He sighed. “On your knees, on the floor. The bed’s too comfortable for punishment.”

                Cas’ cock twitched when Dean said ‘punishment’ and he paused for a moment before obeying Dean’s command. The motel carpeting wasn’t as stiff as one would expect, Dean had managed to find a nice motel, but it was still going to destroy Cas’ knees.

                Dean stood in front of Cas, grabbing him by the hair once again, holding his cock in his other hand. He rubbed the head over Cas’ lips several times before pushing in. Cas slid his hands up Dean’s legs, coming to rest on his leanly muscled thighs.

                Dean slid in to the point Cas had gagged before but this time he didn’t stop, continuing to push in until Cas gagged hard. Cas pushed against Dean’s thighs to try and pull back but to no avail. “Don’t fight back Cas,” he said sternly. Cas stopped pushing, leaving his hands where they were. Dean pushed in again and pulled out just before the gagging point, repeating the movement while picking up speed. He started pushing deeper with each thrust, just short of making Cas gag before he forced himself as deep as he could, making Cas gag harder than ever and push his thighs. Dean held Cas on his cock for a few seconds before letting go so Cas could pull back and breathe. “I said don’t fight back.”

                He reached over to where Cas’ pants had been tossed, picking them up and sliding the belt from its loops before tossing the pants aside again. He walked behind Cas and knelt down, pulling his wrists behind his back and looping the belt around his wrists a few times before inserting the end through the buckle and fastening it tight. Cas struggled against the belt afterwards, but didn’t protest.

                Dean moved back in front of him, assuming his earlier stance; one hand grabbing Cas’ hair, the other guiding his cock part way into his mouth before he let go and now held Cas’ head in both hands.

                He slid in just as before, this time not stopping before Cas gagged, pushing deeper as his throat spasmed around him. “Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuck,” Dean groaned, amazed at how much better a mouth felt around him after so long without. He held Cas’ head in place as he pulled out and thrust back in in one smooth motion, his balls coming to rest on Cas’ chin. He kept still until Cas started to gag then slid out again and thrust back in.

                With each successive thrust Cas’ gagging grew less severe, but only because Dean’s thrusts gained speed, the head of his cock spending less and less continual time at the back of Cas’ throat. Cas struggled against the belt again, desperate to feel the flexing of Dean’s thighs under his fingertips.

                Dean let out a growl as he fucked Cas’ throat. “Wanna feed you my load so bad… but you haven’t earned it yet…”

                Cas mumbled around Dean’s cock though he didn’t stop, and in fact picked up speed. He growled again and looked down at Cas, tugging his head back enough for him to make eye contact. Cas’ eyes were watering from the pummeling his throat was taking and the sheer sight of it would have been enough to make any other man blow his load, but not Dean. Dean just grinned and pulled Cas off of him, pulling him from the floor by his shoulders and pushing him onto his back on the bed.

                “Dean…” Cas voice had gone slightly hoarse from the abuse, which of course only made Dean more aroused, if such a thing was possible.

                Dean’s eyes skimmed over Cas’ body, now flushed a shade of pink and covered in a thin veneer of sweat. His gaze stopped at Cas’ knees, which had been made into a mess by the carpet. The force of Dean fucking his throat had made his knees rub against the carpet constantly, wearing off the top few layers of skin, leaving them an angry shade of red and raw.

                Dean climbed on top of Cas and reached under him, undoing the belt buckle and letting his hands free. He slowly pulled his arms free and let them lay limp at his sides, sore. Dean reached over to the night stand and grabbed the bottle of lube he’d placed on it for himself before Cas had interrupted him. He squeezed a dollop onto his fingertips, tossing the bottle aside and using his hand to spread the lube across them.

                He kissed Cas’ jaw softly, following it with a little bite as he slipped his index finger into Cas’ ass. Cas let out a soft whimper, bringing a smile to Dean’s face. “Mmm, I forgot just how tight you are.” He buried his face against the side of Cas’ neck, planting kisses in between breaths as he pushed his finger deeper. As his finger worked in down to the knuckle Cas’ breathing had already grown deeper.

                “So thick…”

                Dean chuckled against Cas, “Just wait, you know you’re gonna get stretched out a lot more than this.” As he finished speaking he started pushing in a second finger along with the first, feeling Cas’ hole stretch around them. Every time he kissed Cas’ neck he could feel him clench on his fingers ever so slightly.

                He started sliding his fingers in and out of Cas in a slow rhythm, always slowing down as his fingertips brushed across Cas’ prostate. As Cas regained control of his arms, he lifted them and slipped his hands onto Dean’s back, his fingers digging in slightly each time Dean hit the spot.

                Dean loved the sound of the soft little hitched moans coming from Cas, telling him as such as he growled into his ear. “Sound so good Cas… Can’t wait to hear you moan on my cock… Gonna fuck you nice and loose, stretch you out so good…”

                Cas dug his fingers in more.

                “You want that, Cas?”

                Cas only nodded, clutching to Dean.

                Dean growled. “Answer me when I talk to you.” The next thrust was sharper than the others had been.

                Cas yelped. “Yes Dean!”

                His thrusts kept up the new pace, his fingers curled just right to hit Cas’ prostate every time. Cas got louder, digging his nails into Dean’s shoulder blades. His breaths were turning from near silent puffs of air to loud moans on every exhale, his back arching.

                “Dean, Dean, stop, I’m gonna…”

                Dean snarled, “You don’t tell me what to do, Cas. No one tells me what to do.” He bit down on Cas’ neck making him call out louder, his back arching even harder as he got off on the pain of it. It only took a few more thrusts of Dean’s fingers to make Cas’ body tense up, his orgasm igniting every nerve in his body. His cock twitched, untouched, shooting cum in spurts, covering his stomach in little puddles.

                Cas panted as Dean withdrew his fingers and wrapping them around his throat a second later. “Did I say you could cum yet?” His voice was low, a near growl.

                Cas opened his mouth to answer but the pressure on his windpipe was too much for him to get a sound out. Dean answered for him. “I didn’t. You wanna be dommed but then you don’t fucking listen.” He tightened his grip on Cas’ throat and looked him straight in the eye as his own turned black. “Looks like I’m gonna have to show you how this works.”

                He let go of Cas’ throat and sat up on his knees.

                “De-“

                Dean grabbed Cas’ throat again. “You don’t fucking speak unless I tell you to, got it?” Cas reached up to grab Dean’s forearm and Dean used his freehand to grab his wrist and pull it away before tightening his grip further. “Got it?” he growled.

                Cas swallowed under Dean’s hand, doing his best to nod. Dean smiled a sinister smile as he slowly let go. “Good boy. Now, disobey me again, and you’ll regret it.”

                He leaned back onto his knees again, running his fingers along the inside of Cas’ thighs before pushing them apart. Dean pushed Cas’ left thigh against his stomach and used his other hand to slowly stroke his throbbing erection. “Look at you, all ready for me.” He inched nearer to Cas, ready to push into him but then stopped. He’d forgotten to lube up first, and even as a demon he wasn’t going to fuck someone dry. It wouldn’t even be pleasurable to him with that much friction.

                He let go of Cas’ leg, climbing over him, reaching for the bottle of lube. He slid back down to his spot between Cas’ thighs and squirted some of the lube into his hand before smearing it over his cock. What little was left on his fingers after that he rubbed on Cas’ rim, his insides already slick from Dean’s enthusiastic fingering. He flipped the lid shut and tossed the bottle aside before grabbing Cas behind the knee and pushing his thigh to his stomach again.

                Dean wrapped his free hand around his dick and rubbed the head against Cas’ hole, giving just a little pressure, and rubbing again, never pushing enough to actually enter. Cas whimpered, grabbing fistfuls of the bed sheets. He wanted to badly to push himself toward Dean’s cock but he knew Dean was strong enough to stop him.

                “What’s that, Cas? You want it?”

                Cas stared at him, unsure if he would be punished for speaking.

                “You can answer me.”

                “Yes…”

                “Yeah? You want me to fuck you? Pound you into the mattress?”

                “Please Dean…”

                Dean leaned forward, lifting Cas’ leg as he did and letting his ankle rest on his shoulder. He grabbed Cas’ other leg and did the same, both ankles resting on Dean’s shoulders. Dean held himself up with one hand on either side of Cas’ head, circling his thighs so the head of his dick rubbed Cas’ hole, making him whimper further.

                Dean pushed just enough to make Cas’s whimpers get louder before stopping. He grinned and did it again. “Dean, please…”

                He pushed harder, just enough to start slipping in before pulling back out, making Cas whine. “You sure Cas? Remember,” he batted his eyes, drawing attention to their demonic state, “This is gonna be rough.”

                “Do it.”

                “That’s my boy.” Dean started pushing in, drawing a moan from Cas, neither one stopping. Dean kept pushing in slowly, feeling Cas’ stretch to accommodate his girth. Cas reached up, clutching Dean’s back as he kept pushing. The deeper Dean got the harder Cas dug his nails in until he’d gotten fully into the angel.

                He stopped, leaning in closer to whisper in Cas’ ear. “Big enough for you?”

                Cas only whimpered in reply. Dean slowly pulled out before pushing in again, faster than the first time. “What was that? I couldn’t hear you.” He did it again, still only getting a whimper in response. Another time, only now he bit down on Cas’ neck as he pushed in. Cas cried out, nails digging into Dean’s back. Dean hissed into the bite at the pain of Cas’ nails.

                He let go and asked, “Gonna answer me now?”

                Cas tried to catch his breath to answer but before he could Dean fucked into him again. Cas yelped and spit out an answer, “Yes!”

Dean started pushing and pulling in a slow rhythm, the thrusts slower than before. Cas dragged his nails down Dean’s back leaving trails of faint scratches. Dean randomly made some thrusts harder than others, loving the noises Cas would make as he felt his nails dig in. As his thrusts grew harder, Dean could feel Cas’ nails dig deeper into his flesh. Dean growled, reaching up to grab one of Cas’ arms and hold it down above his head. As he kept fucking into Cas he saw a few drops of blood under his nails.

                He growled again, deeper, the sight of blood setting him off. “Damnit Cas... Look what you did.” He pulled Cas’ hand in front of his face to show him. “You fucking made me bleed. You think that’s okay?”

                He pulled out of Cas and let go of his wrist before getting off the bed. Cas reached a hand after him. “Dean, wait, I didn’t…”

              Dean bent down to pick up Cas’ belt from the floor where he’d left it before climbing back onto the bed. “Roll over.”

                “What?”

                “I said roll. over.” He grabbed Cas and rolled him onto his stomach, pulling his hands behind him roughly. He wrapped the belt around Cas’ wrists and pulled it tight, fastening the buckle as before. He grabbed Cas’ hips and lifted them, leaving Cas’ face pressed into the pillows and his ass up in the air.

                “Dean, I-“ his voice was muffled in the fluff of the pillow, the only time he took displeasure in the comfort of plush bedding.

                “Not a word. Speak, and you get gagged.” Dean grabbed Cas’ ass with both hands, spreading his ass. “Look at that pretty hole, so pink…” He inched forward, pushing his cock in without warning, already as fast as he had just before stopping. Cas yelped and Dean slapped his ass, thrusting in again. His hands slid over Cas’ ass, admiring the smooth roundess of it. He’d always enjoyed seeing a nice ass, and Cas’ was immaculate. His hands moved further up to his hips and he grabbed on tight, helping him to fuck him even harder.

                Cas struggled against the belt, desperate to be freed so he could touch Dean again. He’d always loved running his hands over Dean’s body before, there was always something so fascinating to him about the hills and valleys of the human body, loving how they felt under the pads of his fingers. He remembered how he used to lay in bed next to Dean, mindlessly letting his fingers trail over his skin and explore. He’d done the same with Sam, finding the differences between them despite their shared blood beautiful. Of course, that’s the exact reason Dean bound his wrists. His wrists were already showing faint pink rings around them from earlier, and this was bound to aggravate them.

                Dean could see Cas struggling and leaned forward, grabbing the belt in his right hand before leaning back again, lifting Cas a few inches from the bed. The maneuver was putting pressure on his shoulders, and the only reason he managed to handle the sensation at all was that he was an angel. But even that couldn’t keep him from crying out.

                Dean lowered him back down, not wanting anyone in the other rooms to hear. He’d been lucky enough to not have a neighbor on either side, but who knows how far Cas’ cries carried.

                He dug his fingertips into Cas’ hips as he fucked away. His vice grip was sure to leave dark hand shaped bruises behind.

                Dean groaned as he changed the angle he fucked into Cas, keeping up the same speed. Cas could hardly handle it. “Dean!” the word came out a half-moan and half-sob. Dean stopped moving instantly.

                He pulled out of Cas and grabbed his hair, pulling his head back and exposing his throat. “What did I tell you?”

                Cas didn’t reply.

                Dean wrapped his other hand around Cas’ throat, digging his fingers in as he growled. He rolled Cas onto his back and kept his hand on his neck. “What the fuck did I tell you?!” he roared.

                “Don’t speak…” Cas strained to get out against the pressure on his windpipe.

                “And you disobeyed me… again!”

                “Dean, please, I’m sorry, I-“ His voice was hoarse as he struggled to speak.

                “You what? Are a sorry excuse for an angel? I know! I thought you guys were supposed to be obedient. Apparently not. And now you’re going to have to be punished again because apparently not only are you disobedient, you don’t fucking learn!”

                Dean let go of his throat and climbed off the bed to grab Cas’ tie, standing beside the bed as he bent down to stick it in his mouth and pull the ends behind his head, tying them in a knot. Cas made a whimpering sound around the gag but it was muffled.

                Dean walked to the foot end of the bed and looked down at Cas for a minute before climbing on the bed and up Cas, his heavy cock dragging up Cas’ leg. Dean held his face inches from Cas’, grabbing a fistful of his hair and pulling it back to expose his throat. “You should really learn to obey me you know. Especially now that you’re so vulnerable…” He kissed the mark he’d bitten into Cas’ neck before clamping down on it again, harder.

                Cas cried out into the gag, the sound muffled to the point of not being audible outside the room. Dean reached down to grab Cas’ thighs and wrap them around his waist, not letting go of his neck. He was about to force his cock into Cas again but stopped and let go of his neck. “No. You know what? You haven’t been good enough to look at me for this.” He unhooked Cas’ legs and unceremoniously flipped him onto his stomach, putting him once again with his face in the pillow as his ass in the air.

                Dean grabbed onto Cas’ hips the same place as before, the pressure on the tender skin sending a shiver through Cas’ entire body. Dean made sure his grip was tight enough that Cas wouldn’t get away from him before he pushed his slick cock into Cas in one hard thrust. He could hear Cas howl through the gag but he wasn’t going to stop. He pulled out and thrust in again, getting another howl out of Cas. He smirked. “Bitch.” Another thrust. “Fuckin’ tight little bitch.” He thrust again halfway, stopping to admire the sight of Cas’ hole wrapped around him.

                “Look how good you look on my cock, tight little hole’s all pretty and pink for me…” he ran a finger around the taught rim. Cas groaned and tried to squirm away but Dean was strong enough to hold him in place even with just one hand.

                Dean pushed the finger against the rim, enjoying the noises Cas was trying to make around the gag. He knew there was no way he was going to get a finger into him with how fat his cock was, but he liked seeing Cas react to the prospect; and Cas seemed to want it. The more pressure Dean put the more Cas tried to push back onto it. “Aren’t you just a greedy boy?” He pulled his finger back and slapped Cas hard on the ass. He pulled out of Cas again and rammed back in, picking up a rough rhythm. He took repeated opportunities to smack Cas’ ass, leaving a vaguely hand shaped red mark on the right cheek.

              He could feel Cas’ grip around him relax a little as he kept pounding into him. “That’s it Cas, take it like a fucking slut,” he growled. He reached under Cas and wrapped a rough hand around his dick, stroking it slowly. Cas squirmed and whined. “Oh come on Cas, don’t tell me you thought you’d only cum once with me. You know me better than that…” He pounded into Cas even harder. Cas never remembered him being this rough but he’d also never slept with Dean as a demon… or while getting dommed for that matter.

                Dean gradually stroked Cas faster until he was keeping in rhythm with his thrusts. Cas only stopped making noises long enough to take breaths as he kept trying to squirm in Dean’s grip. He could barely focus on anything other than the physical sensations. Everything he could see blurred together as the feeling took hold, it almost reminded him of the time he drank that whole liquor store.

                “C’mon Cas…” Dean snarled, “cum for me. Wanna see you cum on my fat fuckin’ cock.” He kept ramming into him, picking up the tiniest bit of speed, eager to see Cas get off.

                Cas tried to call Dean’s name around the tie in his mouth to no avail, it just blended in with the other moans and whimpers escaping his throat.

                Dean could feel Cas pushing into his hand, or at least trying to. “Getting’ close?” He rubbed the pad of his thumb over the head of Cas’ dick slowly; combined with the stroking it was torturous. Tears were starting to run down Cas’ face from the overstimulation, but they all absorbed into the pillow; though the sight of it would have been hot to Dean.

                Cas’ hole body suddenly shuddered and Dean could feel him clamp down around his cock as he kept fucking into him and felt Cas’ dick twitch as it shot his load onto the bed sheets in several hard spurts and dribbled onto Dean’s fingers. Dean stroked a few more times as he made a few more hard thrusts into him, finally slowing and stopped as he let go of Cas. He pulled out of him and rolled him onto his back, Cas’ landing in his own sticky puddle.

                Dean sat on Cas’ chest, putting enough pressure onto his bound wrists to make him wince. He held his cum covered hand in front of Cas’ face. “Look how much you came for me. Such a filthy boy, an angel getting off so hard from being fuckin’ pounded by a demon...” He brought his hand up to his mouth, licking it clean.

                He got off Cas and sat between his legs, grabbing them and putting Cas’ ankles on his shoulders. Dean pushed into Cas, fucking him hard. Cas looked up at him as he moaned around the tie. Dean had an arm wrapped around each of Cas’ thighs as he pounded him, putting his weight into every thrust. If he hadn’t kept such a strong hold on Cas he would have been fucking him straight through the headboard and the wall behind it. He kept up the brutal rhythm as he pulled Cas’ ankles from his shoulders and wrapped them around his waist, letting him lean forward and get face to face with Cas.

                “God Cas, wanna breed you full so bad… feel you squirm on my knot… but that’s a special privilege that you still need to earn…”

                Dean could hear Cas moan what sounded like a question.

                Dean kept fucking into him mercilessly as he answered through his groans. “It’s part of…unnng… being a Knight… demon hierarchies and shit… god…” He wrapped a hand around Cas’ throat again, keeping a tight grip. “Should really learn this shit Cas, you’re supposed to be an angel.” He rammed into Cas, not letting go of his neck. “Such a little slut for me Cas. You want my knot? Want me to fucking pump you full of my cum?”

                Cas nodded the best he could. He knew what knots were, though it was news to him that demons could get them. Now all he wanted was to feel himself stuck to Dean, feeling his hole strain and stretch to accommodate the doubtless massive swelling of a knot at the base of Dean’s already almost-too-thick cock.

                Dean’s hand slid from Cas’ neck to the side to under his head to grab a fistful of hair, yet again pulling it back to expose his neck. Dean pounded into Cas a few more times before he pulled out and reached down with his free hand to stroke his throbbing cock. He growled in Cas’ ear. “I said you don’t fucking deserve my knot or my load. Fucking slut like you should feel lucky enough just to be allowed to feel my fuckin’ cock in that hole.”

                He growled louder before biting Cas’ neck in the same spot as the first time, teeth marks almost perfectly aligned. His jaw clamped down and he growled into the bite as he felt his knot swell and starting blowing his load onto Cas’ stomach. It came it long, thick spurts, more than a regular human, landing in puddles. Cas was howling into the gag, a mix of frustration at Dean not knotting inside him and the pain from the bite.

                Dean’s orgasm was drawn out, his growling not stopping until his orgasm did which seemed to be an eternity later to the both of them. Dean’s fingers trailed down his still rock hard cock and over his swollen knot, the sensation on the sensitive bulge sending a shiver through his body.

                He let go of Cas’ neck, looking down at the angry red bite mark he’d left. His teeth marks were deep and he was surprised he hadn’t broken skin; must have been one of the perks of being an angel. The red spread out from the mark in several inches each direction and was sure to leave a dark bruise that would stay with him for a while. He went to plant a little kiss on Cas’ jawline and his beard brushed against it, making Cas wince.

                He let go of Cas’ hair and brought his hand down to the mess on his stomach, wiping it up and covering his fingers. He reached back to untie the gag and pull it away, the corners of Cas’ mouth rubbed raw by the cut of the fabric. Dean held his cum soaked fingers in front of Cas’ mouth which opened for him without hesitation. Dean slipped in his fingers, letting Cas’ tongue lick them cleans before he went down to wipe up more of his load. This time as Cas starting working on them he pushed his dick into Cas again, making Cas whine around his fingers. His knot rubbed against Cas’ red, abused hole. “That’s it, clean me up you little cumslut.” He grinded hard as he fed Cas the last of his load removing his fingers and cock at the same time.

                He rolled Cas over easily, he’d essentially gone limp everywhere from all the stimulation, and grabbed the belt, ripping it off in a show of strength. Cas’ wrists had been rubbed raw by the leather, they’d likely sport bruises to match his neck by morning. Cas struggled to roll back over and get enough motion back in his now stiff shoulders to bring his wrists to his front.

                Dean watched him roll over and look at him, eyes running down Dean’s sweaty, lean frame and pausing at the sight of his knotted, still dripping cock. Dean snarled at him, eyes still black before he growled an order, “Be gone when I’m back.”

                He turned and walked to the bathroom to clean up and Cas spotted the bloody scratch marks he’d left on his back and how they were starting to heal as he walked away.


	2. Pre-scene fic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adding this mostly for the benefit of using it on a tumblr anthology application; the anthology is gen fic and given that what I post here is all adult stuff, I wanted to show I'm capable of writing gen also.
> 
> This is what I wrote of the fic when it was going to be used as a big bang, and is everything from the beginning to the start of what I've already posted - enjoy!

Three months, ten days, eleven hours, & nine minutes. That’s how long it had been since he’d seen Sam. In other words; a lifetime. At least it might as well have been. Except for when one of them had been stuck in Hell, they hadn’t been apart this long since Sam had been at Stanford; and even then Dean could at least keep an eye on him in secret.

But now the duty had fallen to Castiel; a former angel turned human turned angel once again thanks to some stolen grace. The Men of Letters’ bunker felt like a cage to Dean, only it served to keep him out rather than to keep Sam in. Sure, Sam was safe with Cas; how many people can say they have a real life guardian angel? But Dean still wanted to be there to keep his little brother safe, and Sam didn’t want him around.

The words were still rattling around Dean’s mind, “Go… just go.” Sam was pissed, and not without cause, but to hear that come from him…

He’d gone against Sam’s wishes; he wasn’t going to deny that for a second. But he couldn’t just let Sam give up like that. He didn’t want to be left alone, but more than that, he wasn’t going to let Sam die thinking that he was a freak or that he was responsible for any of the bad things that happened around the two of them or that he was dangerous to those he loved. Sam was a lot of things, but a dangerous freak wasn’t one of them. Not by a long shot.

Dean wanted to tell him that, not that Sam would be willing to listen. It was Stanford all over again. The two of them separated, one of them mad at the other, and Dean trying to find something to keep himself busy until he could see Sam.

There wasn’t much he could think of to preoccupy himself. It really came down to two choices; drink himself into a fog, or hunt. As much as he wanted to spend all his nights nursing a bottle of Jack Daniel’s, he knew he wasn’t going to find Sam’s forgiveness at the bottom of a bottle.

He’d carried on hunting as he and Sam always had, finding out about weird deaths, investigating, and eventually tracking down whatever creature or being was to blame. It just wasn’t the same though. They were a team, a great team actually, and going solo may have still resulted in plenty of successful hunts, but there was no joy in it anymore.

His life was becoming repetitive, the same thing every few days, the only difference being the creature and the town. Every night he’d settle himself into his motel bed, or sometimes the backseat of the Impala and let out a loud, pained sigh as he kept replaying the events of the last day he’d seen his brother.

The night that Sam had told him to go, he drove, speeding down the highway to nowhere in particular. The look on Sam’s face was all he could think about; confusion, hurt, betrayal, and a disappointed sneer.

He pulled into a dusty old gas station off the side of the road, a relic of 50s. He took a deep breath to try and clear his mind to no avail. “Goddamnit!” he yelled, slamming his fist down onto the dashboard.

It took him a moment to recollect himself into his usual stone-cold gruff state so he could get out and pump his gas without the teenybopper attendant coming outside and bothering him. The pumps were old school ones to match the rest of the station, but thankfully they’d at least had credit card scanners installed on them.

He sighed as he started the pump, flicking the little metal switch so it’d shut off once the tank filled. He wasn’t exactly sure of what to do with himself now. He didn’t have anywhere to go; Sam wouldn’t want to see him anywhere near the bunker, Bobby was long dead, Lisa didn’t know who he was, and as much as he liked hooking up with girls he’d meet in bars, he wasn’t willing to sink low enough to do that just for a place to spend the night. Then again, what he really wanted was company, not a bed. He’d spent so much of his life on the road that the concept of home as a concrete location was almost completely foreign to him. To Dean, and to Sam, home was people, not a place.

Dean finished filling the car, balling up the receipt and tossing it into the backseat as he got in. As he pulled out of the gas station onto the empty road he remembered what he’d do when he snuck to Stanford to make sure Sam was doing okay (all without his knowledge of course). He’d park out at whatever RV campground he could find and camp out of the car, it wasn’t the luxury of a motel room, but it was something.

It took him another hour and a half of driving before he finally came across a sign advertising ‘Shady Grove Campground: next exit’ with an accompanying display lit up to say ‘vacancy’ in pink neon. He pulled off at the next exit and paid for a spot at the attendant’s booth.

“You forgettin’ something?” the plump middle aged woman working asked.

“Huh?”

She chuckled and pointed behind the Impala. “An RV?”

“Ohhhh, no, I just travel lightly. I’m real into minimalist living.”

“Oh, ok, well then… You’ll be in spot A4; just go straight down the road here and it’ll be on your left. Electricity and water hookups are in the bright green boxes in each spot, not that you’ll be needin’ ‘em!” She laughed.

“Thanks, sugar.” He winked at her before driving off. The spot was down a ways, but it was nice, his nearest neighbor four spots away. He pulled in, shutting off the engine before getting out and opening the back door. He grabbed a few pieces of firewood from the pre-stacked pile next to his spot and made a little mound, igniting it with his trusty lighter.

The fire was just big enough to keep the chill at bay as Dean sat down in the backseat of the Impala, leaving the door open. He tugged his phone out of his jacket pocket, tapping on the internet icon while he slumped down in the seat. He checked a few local and national news sites, which surprisingly had severely toned down their coverage of the freak worldwide meteor shower from a few months back. Now any mention was either some conspiracy theorist claiming that it was the end of the world, possibly at the hands of the Illuminati (who had actually been ended by hunters in 1824 under orders from the Men of Letters after it was found that they were breeding monsters), or a scientist trying to explain their theory for what caused it (usually something involving M-theory and colliding membranes).

There wasn’t much in the way of weird deaths or anything to suggest the need for a local hunter in the news, but there was also tomorrow and plenty of other towns to search through. Dean sighed and tossed his phone gingerly into the front seat. There wasn’t much he could do now besides try to get a bit of sleep, not that it’d be easy given how accustomed he’d become to Sam sleeping in the next bed, or at the very least the next room.

He pulled himself out of the Impala and kneeled down by his half-assed fire and scooped dirt on it until it went out followed by a few more scoops just to make sure. “Only you can prevent forest fires” he mumbled to himself in a dopey, mocking tone. Once the fire was fully extinguished he climbed into the back seat once more, shutting and locking the door behind him. He laid down across the seat, getting as comfortable as one can in the backseat of a car, folding one arm up to use as a makeshift pillow as he rolled onto his side.

Falling asleep wasn’t as easy as he had hoped. After an exhausting day spent tracking down a renegade angel, freeing the King of Hell so he could torture it, forcing it out of his brother, and then dealing with the fallout of Sam finding out what Dean had done, sleep should have come easy. His mind was racing, replaying his confrontation with Sam, just as it had at the gas station.

“Go.” He started rubbing his temples.

“Go.” He squeezed his eyes shut tighter.

“Go.” He groaned.

He tried to breathe deep, an attempt to calm himself. He didn’t have his trusty bottle of Jack to keep his thoughts at bay, so this was all he could do. He focused himself on his breathing, even the smallest shred of a thought relating to Sam or what had happened would get pushed aside in favor of a silent mantra of ‘In. Out. In. Out.’

He carried on for several minutes, or a half hour, maybe even an hour; the meditation of his breathing skewing his sense of time. He finally drifted off to sleep, the world around him melting away into a dream.

He wasn’t sure of exactly where he was; just that it was a desert. The sandy expanse went to the horizon in every direction under a cloudless sky, the sun straight overhead beating down on him. No water, no trees, no rocks; just endless stretches of golden tan sand.

Dean wasn’t dressed in the most desert friendly attire. His jacket was nowhere to be seen, his plaid shirt tied around his waist leaving his torso covered only by a dark grey t-shirt damp with sweat and clinging to every valley of his frame.

He wiped the back of his hand across his brow, shaking the sweat off to the ground. Not that it did him much good in the sweltering heat.

He walked straight ahead, or at least what he thought was straight ahead, for what seemed like hours until he saw a sudden flash of light from the horizon, like that of a soldier signaling in Morse Code with a mirror. He headed towards it, thankful that he at least had some kind of landmark to follow. It never felt like he was getting any closer, hours upon hours and whatever the thing was kept glinting in the light, drawing Dean like a moth to a flame. He didn’t know why, but he knew he needed to get to it, no matter how long it took.

The sun didn’t move the smallest fraction across the sky as he continued on his trek, the only relief seeming to come when a few clouds appeared. They slowly grew denser as Dean walked and after what seemed to be several hours fused together, blotting out the sun entirely as they darkened. The shining beacon at the horizon had stopped reflecting the light of the now absent sun but still appeared to be dimly lit, almost as if glowing of its own accord.

A faint breeze blew past sounding almost like a whisper in his ear. ‘ _ _B… on….y… nds…’__ Dean shook his head, telling himself it was just the wind. As he soldiered on he swore he heard it again, ‘ _ _Sa… bl…. On… you… hands…’__ He stuck his fingers in his ears and twisted them, sure that he must have gotten sand in them.

Dean started walking faster, trying to concentrate on reaching the city, or statue, or whatever the hell it was in the distance, trying to keep himself from hearing whatever was whispering to him. T

The winds picked up, the words getting clearer. ‘ _ _Sam’s blood… on….your hands…’__  He shook his head again; hard. There was no way he’d heard those words. No way he’d heard any words; it was just the sound of the wind gusting between the sandy bluffs.

But there it was again. ‘ _ _Sam’s blood is on your hands.’__  It was clear as a bell.

“No. He’s… Sam’s fine…”

‘ _ _On your hands…’__  the words howled past his ears again. ‘ _ _Sam’s blood is on your hands…__ ’

“No it’s not!” he yelled, as if arguing with the wind would get him anywhere. There was a sudden flash of lightning and clap of thunder followed by pouring rain. Dean’s walk slowed as he screamed out again, “No it’s not!”

‘ _ _Your entire fault…__ ’

“I did what I had to do!” his voice cracked and he could feel tears starting to well up under his eyes. “I had to!” his voice cracked further as he stopped dead in his tracks. “To save him!” The tears started dripping down his face as he fell to his hands and knees, the sand being thrown from where he made contact.

‘ _ _You are poison….__ ’

Dean’s left hand clenched into a fist on the ground as he trembled, trying not to sob. He could hear a distant gushing noise but couldn’t bring himself to look at anything other than the sand beneath him despite the sound getting closer.

“I’m not…” From the corner of his eye he could see deep red liquid streams flowing towards him over the sand like snakes, the source of the sound. The shock of it was enough to get him to lift his head enough to see them flowing closer, coming from every direction and all toward him.

The flows intermingled as they drew inward, arteries and veins with Dean as the heart. They seemed to get faster as they came nearer, closing the gap to his splayed right hand. As they made contact with his skin he felt like he was on fire. He tried to move away but it was as if he was attached to the ground. No escape. The rivers flowed up his arm and pooled on his inner arm just below his elbow and it felt like they were burrowing into him. All he could do was yell around his grit teeth as the end of the red streams came in close and followed up his arm to the pool.

The swirling circle of red ooze grew hotter as it coalesced into an all too familiar mark, shining like the glass window of an unholy chapel. As the heat from it became too much to bear, he could feel himself start to grow faint. ‘ _ _It’s all your fault Dean…’__

Then there was nothing.

He woke up with a gasp, sitting up quickly and clutching the headrest of the front seat. Despite having been asleep a moment before he could barely catch his breath and sweat was dripping down his face. The sun was just coming over the horizon casting a dim glow across the car’s interior.

As dean managed to catch his breath the only word he could get out in his gravelly post-sleep voice was “Sammy…”

 

-

 

Dean sighed, rubbing his temples as he relived that night that was more than three months past. He rolled onto his side, eyes glancing over the other, uninhabited bed in the motel room. He still couldn’t bring himself to get a single room despite being alone on the road for so long now. A part of him clung on to the hope that Sam would find him and barge through the door to tell Dean that he forgave him and was ready to go hunting together again.

He scratched the angry red mark on his right forearm. A few days after he’d last seen Sam, he and Crowley teamed up to track down the First Blade; the only known weapon that could kill a Knight of Hell. Working with Crowley may not have been ideal, but he obviously had knowledge of things that neither Sam, Dean, nor even the Men of Letters knew about. As the saying goes, ‘The enemy of my enemy is my friend.’

Crowley and Dean had gone to get the First Blade from Cain, but Cain didn’t have it and the only way Dean could use it was for Cain to bestow his mark on him; the mark of a murderer, of betrayal, of loss of that which one holds most dear. It hadn’t escaped Dean that the mark was the one from his nightmare, still fresh in his mind, but he didn’t know what it’d meant. For all he knew it wasn’t really the same mark, but just his mind scrambling to find meaning in the dream.

Crowley had gone searching for the blade given that he was the only one who could look for it at the bottom of the ocean, where Cain said he’d hidden it when he gave up the life of a demon killer. Dean hadn’t heard from except for twice, and then it was just him telling him off for constantly bothering him about whether he’d found it or not. ‘ _ _I told you, squirrel, I’ll let you know when I find it. Now stop texting and calling me so often, cell service at the bottom of the Atlantic is EXPENSIVE. –C__ ’

His gaze drifted to the light coming in through the thin crack in the curtains from the neon sign reading ‘Placidus Inn’, then to the faint blue glow of the clock on the nightstand; 4:13 am. By this point he wasn’t likely to get any sleep without help, not that that was out of the ordinary anymore. He sat up and swung his legs off the bed, rubbing the drowsiness from his eyes with a growl. He leaned forward to grab his jeans from the floor and pulled them up as he stood, the denim sliding up his legs and catching just slightly on the fabric of his clinging boxer-briefs. He grabbed his pile of shirts and pulled each layer on in order; grey t-shirt, red plaid flannel shirt, and darker grey military jacket.

He padded barefoot to the room’s door, barely slowing down to grab his keys and phone, and pulled his shoes on. He pulled the door shut behind him as he left the room, just hard enough to make a sound.

As Dean headed to where he’d parked, he passed by the motel’s front office where he could see the imposing religious painting in a large gilded frame hanging behind the front. The painting, as the kindly middle-aged woman working at the front desk had told him when he checked in, was of Saint Eustace, the patron saint of hunters and lost causes. __‘How fitting,’__  he’d thought.

“Feel free to lend a hand any time now,” he mumbled as he eyed the painting before climbing into the Impala. He started the car, the roar of the engine a hymn in Dean’s own mechanical church. He pulled out of the lot and headed off down the nearly deserted road.

Dean had picked up the habit of only checking into places that weren’t more than a few miles from a bar that served all night. The drink hadn’t become an addiction, something he couldn’t function during the day without, but a medicine. A burning tonic that hid his self-loathing and fear behind a whiskey colored fog on the nights his thoughts became too much to bear. He’d told himself before that he wasn’t going to live his life in a drunken stupor but sometimes it was only his friend Jack Daniels who could lull him to sleep. If he couldn’t even get his usual, unsatisfying three or four hours of sleep then he’d be useless as a hunter.

He pulled into the bar, a little place in an steel building that had originally been a diner, the bar sharing the original occupant’s name: ‘The Red Tulip’. Dean hadn’t scoped the place out so it came as a surprise when he walked in and found it to not just be in an old diner, but that it was still decked out like one inside.

He took a seat at the counter and flagged down the bartender. “Whiskey, neat.” He nodded and pulled a glass from under the counter, placing it in front of Dean and pouring his drink before attending to other customers. He’d spent enough years serving drinks to know the look of someone who didn’t feel like sharing their woes.

Dean raised the glass to take a sip of the whiskey, sucking air through his teeth as he set it back down. He sighed softly, trying not to focus on the constant droning of self-abuse in the back of his mind. He hadn’t needed to try for long before something else drew his attention. From one of the booths behind him he could hear a conversation that had originally blended in with the background noise, but his ears perked up when he made out ‘black eyes.’

“I tell you his eyes were completely black, must have been on some kind of wicked strong drugs to make them look like that.”

The other voice from the booth sounded exasperated. “When have you ever seen someone on drugs with completely black eyes?”

“Well… never. But how do you explain those eyes and what he was doing?”

“People do some crazy shit. Frankly, I’m more concerned about how he managed to get up and run away.”

Dean had heard more than enough to get him interested. He spun and got up and approached the table. The two men talking were wearing police uniforms. “Hey, I couldn’t help but overhear you talking about someone possibly being on some strong drugs.” He pulled out his trusty fake badge that he kept on him for just such an occasion and held it up. “Agent Squire, FBI,” He put the badge back in his coat pocket and offered his hand which each officer shook in turn. “We’ve been tracking a drug ring and heard they might be active in the area.”

“FBI? No one from the FBI’s checked in at the station that I’m aware of…”

“Yeah, uh,” Dean faked a yawn, “Just got into town about an hour ago. Checked in to a motel then came down here for a drink before bed. Little reward for myself after a long day on the road.”

 “Ah, I know the feeling. M’wife’s afraid of flying so we gotta drive everywhere for vacation. Nothing says rest and relaxation like 16 hours on the freeway.” He coughed. “So, you know what drug this ring’s selling exactly? Because this guy had eyes like I’ve never seen.”

“Yeah… it sounded like you’d said his eyes were completely black?”

“They were. I know some of these tweakers end up with pretty dilated pupils when they’re high, but not like this…”

“So how’d you even find this guy?”

“Well,” he started, as his partner scooted over to make room for Dean to sit, “we got a call from Tom Jenkins, a farmer about 15 miles up the road, saying he could hear someone running around outside his house. He’d gone to the window to get a look and saw someone run right past it and into his barn. He’s getting’ on in age so he didn’t dare go confront whoever it was himself, so he called us.”

His partner continued, “So we drove out there, and the barn door was hanging part way open and the lights inside were on. When we got up near the door we heard this sound… It was… it was like a real low groaning scream. So we pulled our guns and rushed in.”

“And?”

The first cop sighed, sure he was going to sound crazy. “Well, this man was in there, standing over a dead cow. He’d slit the things throat… But he was holding this silver bowl full of the thing’s blood and I swear he was talking to it. We ordered him to put the bowl down and get on the ground, but he just kept mumbling at this bowl. We kept yelling at him to get down, which eventually made him shut up and put the bowl down, but he looked straight at us, and his eyes, man… his eyes were completely black.” He shuddered. “Then he rushed at us, yelling. So I shot him in the leg to stop him, which it did… but… I know this is going to sound insane, but he didn’t fall, he just snarled at us at ran away. I don’t even know how he managed it, didn’t make a sound when he got hit or anything. What kind of drugs can do that?”

Dean sighed, feigning concern. “Who can say until we catch him? People keep concocting newer, stronger drugs, and a ring of high-rollers like what we’re after has the money to get their hands on just about anything.”

“So, you and the other FBI folks gonna start investigating then?”

“That’s what I’m here for.”

“Good. Listen, why don’t you stop by the precinct later today? Someone will be able to take you out to Jenkins’ place; he was heading back to bed when we left so there’s no point in going out there now.”

“Will do.”

The officer across from Dean grabbed a pen from his pocket and scribbled down the address of the station on a napkin before sliding it to Dean. “There’s the address.”

Dean folded the napkin and slid it into his breast pocket before taking a sip of his whiskey. He glanced over to the clock on the wall; 5:50 am. “I should get going. Gotta get my beauty sleep if I’m gonna spend the day tracking down an injured drug addict and his friends.”

“Good idea, man. We’re both heading out too after we finish these beers. It’s been a long ass day.” His partner nodded emphatically. Both of them were worn out, but anyone would be after their day; fourteen hours thanks to a chunk of the department being out sick and then that mess up at the farm.

Dean shook both their hands before getting up. He took a final large swig of his whiskey and set the glass on the bar, pulling a few bills out of his wallet and lifting the glass to slide them under.

Only one glass of whiskey and he was ready to head back to the motel, a new record. But he had a lead on some demons which was enough to keep his mind distracted enough for him to get some sleep, or at least something resembling sleep.

When he made it back to his motel room, he tugged his shoes off as he locked the door, shrugging off the rest of his clothes save his underwear. As he climbed into bed, reveling in the feeling of the cool blankets sliding over his skin, he glanced over at the alarm clock. He’d gotten used to going through the calculations in his head quickly now; three months, ten days, eleven hours, & nine minutes. That’s how long it had been since he’d seen Sam.

There was no good reason for him to keep track of the time like that; it was just one more way for him to punish himself. He’d tell himself that not finding a way to patch things up with Sam enough to even be in the same room was another of his failures. The fact that he hadn’t gone so far as to start self-flagellating was a surprise, though the thought had crossed his mind once. But just as he knew he wouldn’t find Sam’s forgiveness at the bottom of a bottle, he knew he wouldn’t find absolution in the end of a belt.

He let his mind try to wrap around what the demons could possibly be up to. Obviously they were in touch with someone high up, couldn’t have been Crowley, he’d gotten too friendly to be working behind the Winchesters’ backs. He figured Abaddon would be a good bed; powerful, a sworn enemy, and with who knows how many black eyed soldiers at her back.

It didn’t take much time for Dean to slip into sleep, he’d spent so many nights over the years thinking over cases that it’d become his own version of counting sheep. His sleep was dreamless as had been the case for some time, but whether it was a true lack of dreams or just conditioning to forget them as soon as he awoke was anyone’s guess. He’d had that same dream about the desert for what must have been a week after the last night he saw Sam, but now the worst that happened was he’d wake up with the mark on his forearm burning slightly.

He woke up with the alarm he’d set for 9:15, late enough to have gotten a little bit of sleep, but early enough to not show up at the police station too late. He went through his normal preparatory routine for impersonating a federal agent; groggily looking up directions to his destination on Google Maps, drinking a cup of black coffee, shower, quick trim (to keep the short scruffy beard he’d taken to sporting from looking unprofessional), splash of cologne (spicy and woodsy, manly and alluring), donning his suit (recently ironed by himself), pulling on his shiny black dress boots, and picking and tying a tie (black with diagonal silver stripes, each bordered by thinner light blue ones).

He also gave his phone a cursory check for any word from Crowley. Nothing.

He headed out to the Impala, parked in the same place he had when he’d checked in. He gave a nod to the painting of Saint Eustace as he passed and climbed into the car, starting the engine and following the directions he’d memorized. It hadn’t taken him long to reach the police station.

When Dean got inside he walked to the front desk, pulling out his fake FBI badge and presenting it to the young officer who was there. “Agent Squire, I was sent about the incident out on the Jenkins farm.”

“Oh yeah! Bill and Chuck left a note about you.” The young woman picked up the note, skimming it. “It says to bring you out to old man Jenkins’ place and to let you have access to anything you request… Seems like overkill for dead livestock…. Ohhhh, I get it. Says here the suspect could be involved with a major drug ring…. Wait. Are we even a big enough town to have a major drug ring?”

“If there’s one thing you learn while working drugs cases, it’s that they can operate anywhere. A few years back I was involved in a bust on a ring that was operating out of a quilting club. Old ladies figured they’d supplement their Social Security checks with drug money. Apparently the insides of quilts make good hiding places.” Granted, most people would never believe a story like that, but Dean had a way of committing to a lie and plenty of charisma, so it was never a hard sell.

“Well, shit. So, I guess you’ll be needing and escort out to the Jenkins farm then?”

“Yeah, that’d be great.”

She reached down to unclip her keys from her belt before turning to one of the other young officers. “Hey Lopez! You mind covering for me while I bring the agent where he needs to go?”

“No prob!”

She walked around the desk and through the door dividing the front office area from the public waiting room. “I’m Officer Voss, by the way,” she mentioned as she offered her hand. Dean shook it, smiling.

“So, I’ll follow you then?”

“No sense in wasting gas, you can ride with me in the cruiser. I can put on my lights so we’ll get there faster.” She grinned and winked. Dean wasn’t fully sure whether she was trying to flirt with him or whether she was just mischievous but he was entertained either way.

“Sure, lemme just grab something out of my car.”

“Alright, I’ll pull around and meet you out front.” She headed off towards the stations garage while Dean headed outside and popped his trunk.

He already had his gun in a shoulder holster and the demon killing knife in his boot, but he grabbed an extra magazine and a flask of holy water just to be safe and stuffed them both into his inner breast pockets.

Officer Voss pulled up as he shut the trunk and waved for him to get in. He climbed in to the car, a standard Crown Vic decked out in police livery and containing the regular cop accessories: computer, radio, etc. She started pulling out of the lot before he’d even gotten his seatbelt on and sped down the road.

“So,” she cleared her throat, “You believe what Bill and Chuck said? About the perp’s eyes. I, uh, snuck a look at the report. Couldn’t help it after the scene they made about how weird it all was.”

“Yeah. It’s not real common, but there are some strong drugs out there that can cause pretty severe dilation. In the heat of the moment like that and with the bad lighting it could easily make his eyes look completely black.”

“Hopefully you can catch the guy. Can’t have some addict going around killing folks’ livestock. Hell, who knows what else he could end up doing.” She had a sudden realization. “How are you gonna take the guy down? I mean, he got shot and just ran on outta there… and if there’s a ring there’s probably more like that running around.”

“Well,” Dean started. He couldn’t exactly tell her that he was going to torture him, stab him to death, exorcise him, or some combination of the three. “Gonna just have to cross that bridge when we get to it. Besides, guy’s gotta come down sooner or later.”

The car turned a corner onto a gravel road. “This is always been such a peaceful town. Sure we get the occasional drunk and disorderly or speeding ticket but never something as big as a drug ring.”

“That’s the exact reason they want to operate around here; they figure it’s easier to fly under the radar.” It was the same reason demon’s seemed to prefer small towns, fewer witnesses and fewer hunters. Even if any hunters caught wind of what they were up to, by the time they’d get out there the demons would be finished and long gone.

They slowed down and pulled into a dirt driveway, two dirt tire trails with grass in the middle; more of a worn path from 70-odd years of vehicles than a purpose built drive. The cruiser came to a stop behind a mint green pickup from the 60s, old but in good condition save for some nickel sized rust spots around the wheel wells.

Dean and Officer Voss got out the car at the same time, shutting their doors in sync. __‘Just like me and Sa-‘__  he cut himself off before he could finish the thought. He was on a hunt; it wasn’t the time to let himself get emotional.

The two climbed the couple wood steps up to the farmhouse porch, stopping in front of the door, where Officer Voss knocked hard. “Mr. Jenkins!” she called out, “It’s Officer Voss from the police department!” She turned to Dean. “He’s a bit hard of hearing.”

Dean nodded in understanding.

“Mr. Jenkins!” she called out again, followed immediately after by the sound of heavy footsteps from inside and the click of a deadbolt. The door opened, revealing the elderly farmer, a man of at least 80. Despite his age, he lacked many of the common frailties that other his age had. He was broad shouldered and tall, though he hunched forward ever so slightly, easily a result of less than stellar posture rather than age. His skin held a natural, golden hue from hours spent in the sun. Frankly, Dean was a bit taken aback that this was the man who’d called the cops because he didn’t dare risk a confrontation with one hooligan.

Mr. Jenkins looked the two of them over before speaking. “What? D’ya find the guy?”

“Well, no. Actually, the FBI’s investigating a drug ring and the story of your visitor last night caught their interest.”

“A drug ring?” He sounded skeptical.

“The guy’s behavior is apparently consistent with that of people on some new heavy duty drug these people are selling.” He motioned to Dean with a tilt of her head. “This is Agent Squire, he’s the one investigating.”

Dean offered his hand to Jenkins who took it and shook it with an unsurprisingly firm grip. “So, Mr. Jenkins, what exactly did you see before you called the police?”

“I heard my barn door open first, the thing creaks like no one’s business. Thing shoulda been oiled years ago but I didn’t see the point in wasting the time when I’m the only one close enough to hear it. Anyway, I come downstairs to see what was opening it, because I keep it locked at night. I see this man run by my front windows from the barn, then he runs back with some bowl in his hands. I didn’t know what he wanted in there, but he was trespassing so I called the cops.” He paused a moment before adding, “Probably coulda just shot him, but I don’t know what kinda guns these gang member wannabe kids carry around these days and I didn’t live this long to get shot to death.”

“You see anything else?”

“Not until the cops got here, and I’m sure they told you what they saw.”

Dean thumbed toward the barn. “Mind if we go take a look?”

“Be my guest. Hope you got a strong stomach though, it ain’t pretty.”

Dean couldn’t help but me amused at the insinuation that he could have a weak stomach, not after all the shit he’d seen.

“Door’s already unlocked; Had to let out the cows this morning to pasture. You’ll have the place to yourselves.”

“Good to know.”

“If ya need to know anything else, I’ll be here in the house. Just walk on in, no need to knock; I can barely hear it.”

“Alright.” Dean and Officer Voss turned and headed for the old barn. It was large and a dark shade of red that matched the blemishes on Jenkins’ truck, still in good shape but clearly not a modern structure. The door had been left half open, likely to ease the workload of herding the cattle back in at the end of the day.

The dead cow had been covered with a blue plastic tarp which Officer Voss pulled off, needed a few tugs to win against the coagulated blood adhering it to the corpse. The cow was on its side, head facing the back of the barn. Dean walked around its body in search of any kind of clue. When he saw the cow from where the demon had been standing he pulled a face.

“Find something?” Voss asked as she walked around the cow to Dean’s side. “Jesus…” The cow’s face was frozen in a contorted grimace, one that seemed to fit what a cow in pain would look like, not that Officer Voss or Dean spent much time around wounded cattle. Its throat had been slit though there wasn’t much of a puddle. What blood was there was matted in its hair and dried onto the sides of the large metal bowl lying at Dean’s feet.

Dean picked it up and looked it over as Voss watched. He recognized it almost instantly. It was silver, covered in anguished faces screaming out. The inside had a layer of dried blood. It was the bowl demons used to communicate with their superiors, the superior. It had to be Abaddon. Crowley was on their side, at least for the time being, and Abaddon was the only other demon of high enough rank to make the bowl necessary.

“What is that?”

“A bowl.”

“I know that, I mean, even on drugs, why would someone need a bowl full of cow’s blood?”

“They were…” he tried to come up with something believable. “Trying to send a message probably. You know, like how the big southern cartels leave heads in the streets and things like that. The bowl’s too ornate to just be some spur of the moment piece of insanity.”

“So… they’re trying to say not to mess with them?”

“Maybe. It’s hard to say for sure unless we find the guy or the ring. Could be a threat, could be a complicated way of relaying a message.”

“Wasn’t the guy mumbling into it? That’s what the report said.”

“Probably just an effect of the drugs.”

“I saw a movie once with a demon possession where the girl acted like that…”

“You think it was a demon?” He tried to look skeptical, and thanks to years of impersonating federal agents he pulled it off.

“Well, he could have seen a movie like that and it affected his mental state while high. But,” she started before smirking at him, “stranger things have happened.” As soon as the last word left her lips her pupils dilated, spreading out to cover her eyes entirely with black.

Dean dropped the bowl, a cloud of dust and hay billowing out around it. He reached down to pull the demon killing knife from his boot and leapt up, lunging at the demonic Officer Voss. She caught him by the wrist mid-stab, yanking his arm hard enough to dislodge the blade sending it sliding across the floor.

“Now, now, Dean, is that any way to treat a lady?”

“Some lady…” Dean hissed through clenched teeth. The demon had a near bone crushing grip on his wrist.

“You had a pretty good story going there though, big evil drug cartel and all that. Could have fooled me. Well, not me, but this meatsuit. She’s a little air-headed. Not a complete idiot, but, we can’t all be geniuses. But you and I both know what that man was doing here, don’t we Dean?”

“Trying to contact that red-headed bitch…” he growled.

“Oh Dean, that’s no way to talk about the regent and next Queen of Hell.” She whistled, a shrill, long whistle. A man burst through the back door of the barn, sporting a bullet wound to the leg, crusted blood around it on his pants.

Dean turned as he heard the door exploding into a million splinters to see the man. “Oh, everybody’s friend from yesterday.”

The man smirked, his eyes already blown black. “Hey Dean.”

Dean wasn’t sure of what he could do, even if he could get out of Officer Voss’ grip, the knife was too far to get to before the other demon would catch him. He did the first and only thing he could think of; he pulled his knee up to his chest and shot his foot out in one swift fluid movement. Voss fell backward losing her grip on Dean’s wrist.

The other demon ran at him as Dean pulled his gun out of its holster and fired several rounds into his legs, slowing him down enough for him to get the knife. He charged the demon, knocking it onto its back, Dean sitting on its chest with the knife’s point held between its eyes.

Voss picked herself up from the ground and lunged at Dean’s back. Stealth wasn’t exactly her forte and Dean heard her coming enough in advance that he rolled off of his captive onto his back and in a move of near demon-level speed thrust the knife upward, catching her in the chest as she hurtled down at him. He pushed her off to the side as the orange glow inside her flickered and went out like a candle.

“How the fuck…” the still living demon remarked.

Dean reached the knife over to its throat. “Tell me what you were doing here last night or you can join her.”

“I… it was on orders!”

“I don’t care why, just tell me.” His voice grew deeper as he pushed the knife’s edge harder against its throat.

“I- I was contacting Abaddon!”

“What for?”

“T-t-t” he stammered. He’d heard the Winchesters were a force to be reckoned with, but he’d never seen anyone move as fast as Dean had against Voss. Not anyone human at least. Dean pushed the knife just a hair harder, enough to draw blood. “To tell her we’d surrounded you!”

“Surrounded me? Two weak ass demons in a barn?”

“…….everyone.”

“What?”

“Everyone… everyone in town is possessed,” it was nearly groveling, hoping that giving Dean all the info it had would somehow save it. Though it wouldn’t save him from the wrath of Abaddon, and that was far worse than anything Dean could do.

“How? You’d have to track me down and know where I was going to be.”

“We did. Demon surveillance. She wanted you stopped so you couldn’t get the First Blade.”

Dean curled his lip in a silent snarl. Just what he needed. Now even if Crowley managed to find the blade it’d be nearly impossible to get close enough to Abaddon to kill her. He glared at the demon and slit its throat deep enough to kill it.

He stood and turned to leave the barn when Jenkins walked in carrying a shotgun. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you not to bring a knife to a gunfight?” He grinned, and fired.

The shot spread and it all hit Dean in the chest, knocking him backward to the ground. Jenkins let out a guttural laugh as he strolled over the demon calling bowl and picked it up to call Abaddon and get his promotion. Dean’s vision and hearing faded, the last thing he made out was, “I took out one of the mighty Winchesters. Not even Abaddon could pull that off. Not even Lucifer!” followed by another laugh.

When Dean came to it was past nightfall. He reached up to rub his eyes before he remembered that he’d been shot and frantically reached down to his chest. He looked at his palms, now covered in pieces of dried blood, but there’d been no pain when he touched himself. He gingerly unbuttoned the top half of his tattered shirt and lifted his head just enough to look down it. Nothing. No blood, save for on his shirt, no bullet holes, no scratches, no wounds of any kind. The only reason he was sure he wasn’t making the whole thing up was the blood, scorch marks, and a few pieces of lead shot that had collected in the valleys of lean muscle.

He sat up as slowly as he could manage, still not convinced that he wasn’t about to be in a world of pain. He sat still for a few seconds before getting the rest of the way up and looking around. The bodies of the two demons from earlier were still where they’d fallen, and somehow, his gun and the demon killing knife were still on the ground next to him. Then again it wouldn’t have mattered if he’d been killed as Jenkins had seemed to think was the case.

Dean picked up his gun and slid it back into its holster; the thing wouldn’t be much use now. The knife he held at the ready, knowing he’d have to fight off plenty of more demons to get out of this hellhole.

He crept out the barn door, heading for the police cruiser had been parked. As he approached he realized that it was gone, likely commandeered by Jenkins as a faster alternative to the antiquated pickup. Not that it mattered much to Dean, the older truck would be easier to hotwire. He kept low to the ground as he came up alongside it, just as a precaution. He’d already cheated death once today, by some miracle, and he wasn’t going to test his luck a second time so soon.

The truck’s door slid open silently thanks to Jenkins, the real non-possessed Jenkins, keeping the working parts of it well maintained. He pulled off the plastic molding under the steering column, rummaging for the wires he needed to hotwire it, which didn’t take him more than a few seconds. He used the demon killing knife to cut them and stripped them with his teeth before touching them together gently, trying to get the engine to start. He spend at least a full minute on it without success; the battery must have been dead. He didn’t know how long the demons had controlled the town for, but it was likely that the last time the truck was driven by Jenkins was before his possession.

“Damnit!” he slammed his fist down onto the dashboard leaving cracks radiating out in a spider web from where he made contact and through the various gauges. He got out and slammed the door, not even noticing the window splinter from the force of it.

He started walking down the dirt driveway and up the road, remembering the route he and Voss had taken earlier that day, though he wasn’t sure how much time had passed. He ran the back of his hand down his cheek, feeling his scruffy beard for growth. It wasn’t noticeably longer than it had been; leading him to assume that it couldn’t have been more than a full day.

The road had seemed deserted the whole way back into the city, though once he’d reached the edge of downtown there were plenty of people. It only took a second for one of them to spot him out the corner of their eye, their eyes turning black before screaming at him, alerting the others that he’d lived. They should have known better than then to assume a Winchester was actually dead, they had friends in high places after all, but even the luckiest person didn’t survive a nearly point-blank shotgun blast to the chest.

The first demon that rushed at him got stabbed straight in the heart, though that was a bit generous of a way to describe it. In reality, Dean held up the knife so fast and with such precision that the demon ran right into it. The others within sight were shocked for a second, though it didn’t stop them from charging at him as well.

One met the same fate as the last one, the next he punched in the stomach causing it to keel over followed by Dean punching it in the face from below, sending it backwards before he rammed the point of the knife into its throat. It fell off the knife just fast enough for him to swing it backwards into the stomach of another who’d snuck up behind him.

Dean ran at the next one, throwing the knife straight ahead, burying it between its eyes. Before it had a chance to fall he grabbed the knife’s handle and pushed the corpse off it with his foot on its chest.

Now that he’d cleared out the immediate threat he weighed his options. He needed to get back to the police station, but that was blocks away and there were still demons crawling everywhere. There were cars parked up and down the sides of the street that he could easily hotwire, and he was convinced that it was his best option until he realized that they probably all had dead batteries too. __‘It’d be so much easier to just mow them all down with a car…’__

He sighed and headed around the corner on foot. As he closed in on the station, more demons rushed him, and he dispatched them all as easily as the others; knife to the heart, one-two punch followed by the knife in the forehead, stabbing through the various arteries of the neck, and a couple more where he threw the knife and hit them in one vital spot or another.

As he drew closer still to the station, he could feel himself growing more vicious in his kills. The next demon he faced must have been a parkour enthusiast or something similar when he was a human; the thing had jumped clear across the street between rooftops when Dean spotted it. It grabbed a drainpipe running down the building near Dean and slid down it, putting its feet to the wall and pushing off in a backflip when it was just above Dean’s head. Somehow, Dean managed to catch it by the neck as it flew over him and slammed it to the ground onto its back, at which point he rammed the blade into its heart, dragging it down to nearly its navel, the host’s blood spilling out onto Dean’s hands. Granted he normally would have taken more care to keep his suit immaculate, but the shirt and jacket were already shot full of holes and the tie was singed to hell.

A demon that saw his little interaction with the parkour demon growled and ran at him, though Dean only growled back deeper and louder and swung at it, the blade slicing clear through its neck and detaching its head. To any hunter watching it would have seemed as if Dean was among the possessed.

Between the demons he’d put down and the ones who ran in fear after seeing him work, the area immediately around the station was deserted. He dug in his pocket for his keys, letting out a sigh of relief when he found they were still there. As he slid the key into the lock he heard a voice behind him.

“Didn’t think I’d be seein’ you again, boy.” Dean turned around. It was Jenkins. “How’d you survive my little gunshot? Get your pretty angel boyfriend to fix you?”

Dean snarled at him. “I don’t know, but apparently someone wants me to kick your ass.”

Jenkins laughed. “Well it’s certainly taking you long enough!” He whistled, and a moment later demons were coming from everywhere. They were flooding out of the station doors, coming from around the sides of the building, coming from both ends of the street, and all together forming a circle around them like highschoolers about to see a fight; and that’s precisely what was about to happen.

Jenkins raised his shotgun from where he held it at his side, taking aim at Dean. It may not be enough to kill him, but it was certainly enough to slow him down significantly. But before he could get off a shot, Dean grabbed the barrel with one hand and wrenched the gun out of his hands, now pointing it at Jenkins.

“What do you think you’re going to do with that? Shoot me?” he laughed, joined by several of the other demons in the crowd. Dean glared at him and did the first thing that came to mind; he swung the gun down over his knee with enough force to bend it in half. The fact that he could manage such a feat and without completely shattering his leg should have come as a shock to him, but since he left the barn the feasibility of his actions were the last thing on his mind.

“Well know, looks like our little friend’s gone and picked up some new tricks.” Jenkins said mockingly. He rushed at Dean, throwing a punch that hit him square in the jaw. Dean shook his head and launched himself back at Jenkins, punching him in the gut then the face when he was doubled over. He still had his teasing smirk on his face when he recovered from the blow.

There was a whistle from the crowd and Jenkins turned to see a demon tossing him a piece of rebar, found while it was patrolling an old parking garage. He caught it and swung it in a vertical circle a few times to get a feel for it before charging at Dean with it. Dean ducked under it as he swung at him, dodging several blows in succession.

“Just gonna dodge Dean? You’re gonna have to do more than that if you wanna get out of here and see little Sammy again.”

Dean glared at him. “Don’t. Say. His. Name.”

“Whose name? Sammy’s? Why? Is little Dean mad that he can’t see his little brother?” He pretended to have a sudden realization, “No! You’re mad because he doesn’t want to see you!” He guffawed.

“I said don’t say his name, asshole!” Dean snarled.

Jenkins rolled his eyes. “Is that supposed to scare me? Because last I checked, you’re surrounded. No one here is afraid of you.”

He launched at Dean again, but before he could swing the rebar at him Dean threw an uppercut, knocking Jenkins onto his back. Dean grabbed the rebar as he fell, landing on top of him holding the rebar over his throat. Jenkins looked up at him, a little surprised, but still not afraid.

“No one?” Dean looked him in the eye. “You should be.” He growled and grabbed the knife from his waistband and thrust it straight into Jenkins’ heart. As the light from inside him flickered and dulled Dean looked out at the crowd and growled again, loud, angry, and barely human.

His pupils blew out, his eyes gone completely black and the mark on his forearm started to glow, faint at first but growing more vibrant as he stood. He calmly strode to the edge of the now dispersing crowd. Dean placed his hand on the forehead of the first demon he met, rendering it unable to move as its insides, then its eyes started to glow bright red; the same effect as an angel smiting in an opposite color for the opposite force.

The mass of red energy burst through its eyes, body slinking to the ground into a heap before the light slipped through the air and into the mark. Dean’s mouth pulled into a smirk, realizing what he was now capable of and without an ounce of concern as to how he’d gained this new power.

The demons that were left looked on in fascination and horror before Dean walked up to another, this one frozen in fear. Again he placed his hand on its forehead, again it light up like a roman candle and expired before the energy flowed out of its eyes and into the mark.

The few demons left turned to run, expelling themselves in a massing cloud of black smoke. Dean glared at the cloud, used to not being able to stop demons once they’d left their hosts, but he suddenly felt the pull of a hidden instinct. He bent down slightly, legs bent and spread apart, as if ready to pounce and let out a growl that grew into an inhuman roar that shook the ground. The swirling cloud of demon smoke separated back into individual wisps and shot back into their vessels mouths. One by one they lit up from the inside, eyes shining red before the energy blew out and coalesced together, being absorbed by the unholy brand on Dean’s arm.

As the bodies fell Dean’s roar grew silent and his legs trembled before he stumbled, catching himself as he panted. It took him a minute to catch his breath before he remarked, “How in the fuck…”

Once he’d fully caught his breath and could stand unaided, he slid his right sleeve up to his elbow, taking a look at the mark. It had to be some effect of the mark; it was the only logical explanation. The living through a gunshot, the anger, the ruthlessness, the increase in fighting skills, and especially that glowing whatever it was. Cain had told him the mark came with a cost, maybe this was it. Cain had given him his mark, so it only made sense that the abilities he had been given with it would go to Dean as well. Though he would have preferred to have been told about it rather than discovering it on his own; and that was assuming he was even right.

He reached into his pocket for his keys and got into the Impala, driving back to the motel to get his belongings before heading down the highway, eager to get as far away from the town as he could.

He reached for his cellphone and scrolled through the contacts list, glancing back and forth between it and the road until he found the entry he was looking for; ‘Guy Woodhouse’. He tapped the name to call it and waited for an answer. “…. What the hell do you want now?”

“Crowley, something’s happened.”

“Oh what, you have a little run in with Mistress? I’m sure you ran off with your tail between your legs as always. Don’t tell me you interrupted the little journey I’m on for you to tell me that!”

“Cut the jokes Crowley, I’m serious. I got surrounded by demons working for Abaddon. The whole fucking town was possessed.”

“And? You obviously made it out if you’ve got time to call daddy.” Dean could practically hear his smirk through the phone.

“They shot me in the chest and I lived. No angels around to bring me back, and I’m assuming you didn’t do it.”

“No, I was off looking for our little blade at the bottom of the ocean. Which I haven’t found yet. May have found the ruins of Atlantis though…”

“Crowley, listen. I… I was powerful. Like, moving faster than the demons could, and I fucking… I don’t even know what to call it. It was like when Cain held off those demons while we escaped his house, the mark was glowing, and it killed all the demons.”

“What do you mean all?!”

“I mean all. Like, once upon a time there was a town full of demons, now there’s a town full of corpses. Real front page Weekly World News kinda stuff. But I didn’t call to have a dick swinging contest, I called because I figured you’d know how the fuck it happened.”

Crowley was silent for a moment. “You said that little cattle brand on your arm was glowing, and it absorbed… something, right?”

“Yeah, and?”

“’And?’” he sighed. “What, do I gotta spell this out for you ‘Dick and Jane’ style? If it came from the mark, it’s probably related to the mark, and the person who would know the most about that would be…” he trailed off to let Dean figure it out and feel like he accomplished something.  
“Cain.”

“Exactly! So instead of bothering me, why don’t you go get up his ass instead?”

“Well excuse me for thinking the so called ‘King of Hell’ would know something.”

“Sounds like baby is mad that he doesn’t know what’s going on. Don’t call me again until you’ve had your bottle and a nap, squirrel.” The line went dead.

__’Did he just hang up on me?’__  Dean sighed and pulled up the GPS app on his phone, setting it to navigate to the little town in Missouri where he could find Cain and his bees.

He sped most of the way there. Lucky for him the highways were fairly vacant so all he needed to do to avoid a speeding ticket was slow down any time he saw another vehicle. Not that it’d matter if he had to pay one given his stockpile of fraudulent credit cards, but being slowed down; that would be the real problem.

Dean pulled up the gravel driveway to Cain’s house just after sunrise. Cain, unsurprisingly, was tending to his bees in full beekeeping attire, just as he had been when Dean and Crowley first met him; though what need a nearly immortal demon had for bee-proof clothing was a mystery.

Cain approached the Impala, pulling off his veil and holding it under his arm. He called out as Dean climbed out of the car, “I thought I said that I’d call __you__ when the time came!”

Dean sighed. “You did.”

“Then why are you here, boy?” Cain had taken a stern tone with Dean, as if he was disciplining a child; and from Cain’s point of view, that’s exactly what he was doing.

“Something… something happened.”

“Like what? I know you didn’t get the blade yet.”

Dean lifted his sleeve and pointed at the mark he’d received from Cain. “Like this thing was fucking glowing, and-“

Cain cut him off. “Let’s take this inside.” He motioned to the front door before leading Dean inside. “Take a seat on the sofa, I’m going to take this off and make some tea,” he said before heading to the other end of the front hall, opening the closet where he stored his beekeeping suit.

Dean sat on the sofa, in the same spot he had when he’d visited with Crowley months before and waiting for Cain, still a little anxious about pissing him off. The man may have been helpful, but he wasn’t one that Dean liked dealing with angry.

After Cain unzipped and took off his beekeeping suit and stowed it in the closet, he went into the kitchen to put the kettle on for tea. “Constant Comment alright with you?” he called. Apparently this time he was going to be more genial, though Dean figured it was because he’d promised him a favor and he knew he wouldn’t get shit from Dean if he was too abrasive.

“Constant what?”

“It’s a kind of tea! Nevermind, you’ll take what I give you,” he sighed, almost loud enough for Dean to hear. A few minutes later he strolled into the sitting room with a tray holding the tea service as well as a plate of assorted cookies.

Dean glanced at the plate and looked up at Cain, arching an eyebrow. “Are those… Girl Scout cookies?”

“They are.”

“Really? A demon buying Girl Scout cookies?”

“I need to go into town for supplies now and then and they were selling them. Remember Dean, I gave up the life of a demon, and there’s no reason I can’t help out some kids. Collette and I, we wanted kids, you know.” He poured he and Dean each a cup of tea before picking up his by the saucer and sat back in his chair. “So, Dean. If you’re done complaining about the cookies that I was nice enough to offer you, why don’t you tell me what exactly happened with the mark.”

Dean took a sip of his tea to be nice, though he found it wasn’t bad; pretty good actually. He’d have to pick up some next time he needed to go in a grocery store, not that it happened often; his diet consisted mainly of food from various gas stations and convenience stores he passed on the road.

He told Cain what had happened in the little town, how he’d survived a blast from a shotgun without a scratch, how he’d become a more skilled and violent fighter, how he’d started fighting on instincts, how the mark glowed and sucked up energy; all of it.

Cain sighed exasperatedly and set down his tea. “Boy,” he paused, “you’ve gotten yourself into a real mess now.”

“What do you mean? Getting the mark wasn’t enough of a mess on its own? Having my brother not want anything to do with me wasn’t a big enough mess?”

“This makes that all look like a walk in the fuckin’ park. You know how I killed all those demons while you and Crowley escaped?”

“Yeah.”

“It wasn’t so you two could get out; I know that you know how to fight off some demons. It was because I couldn’t have you killing them. I could give you the mark because you’d killed before, but if you kill with the mark, it gets stronger.”

“What you mean it gets stronger?”

“You said it was sucking up a glow from the demons you killed? That was energy, and with that much at once, I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s taken full hold of you.”

“I- I don’t follow.”

“Think about it. Only a killer can receive my mark, and millennia ago Lucifer hand selected those who would become the Knights of Hell. He only picked the worst; the ones who would keep killing and get stronger by absorbing the life force of those they slayed, the ones truly worthy of that kind of power. Of course, they were all demons before they were marked, but you’re a special case, Dean. You managed to be so poisonous and vile that I could make an exception.” He took a sip of his tea. “All those demons you slayed? You absorbed them. It’s made you stronger, fiercer, more dangerous to any who would oppose you…” He picked up a dusty leather bound book from off the coffee table and read, “and the Lord said unto him, therefore whosoever slayeth Cain, vengeance shall be taken on him sevenfold. Genesis 4:15. What do you think that means Dean?” He paused. “I’ll tell you. Anyone who tries to fight you will be destroyed. They just left out the part about how I was the one taking the vengeance… how you’ll be the one taking the vengeance.”

“Wait, backup a second,” he started, “you made an exception for me and gave me the mark… and the mark…”

“Is what turns one into a Knight of Hell.”

“So you’re saying that-“

Cain cut him off, “That you’re a Knight of Hell, Dean.”

“What the hell do you mean I’m a Knight of Hell?!” he bellowed.

“I mean exactly what I said.”

Dean grit his teeth. “So what… I’m a fucking demon now?”

“More or less,” Cain said, maintaining a calm demeanor.

Dean’s eyes blew black. “What am I supposed to do, huh? Go gather an army and try to take over hell myself?!” His rage was growing by the minute.

“Well, first thing you can do is calm the hell down.”

“Calm?! How can you expect me to be calm?!” Dean was yelling at the top of his lungs.

“Because unless you can control your anger, you’ll just get more violent until some other hunter asks me for the First Blade so they can take you out instead of Abaddon.”

Dean glared at him, teeth still grit, fists clenching, and his breath growing more noticeable as if he had been out for a run. “You did this to me…”

“Son, you did this to yourself. You’re the one who came barging in here demanding the First Blade.” Dean growled and leapt at him, hand out to kill him as he had all the demons before. Cain caught him by the wrist and snapped his arm like a twig, throwing Dean to the floor. “You really think you can kill me like that? Only the First Blade can, remember?” Dean looked up at him, his breath normalizing. “Now, as I said before, you need to calm down,” he paused, “Because if you don’t, I’ll gladly snap the rest of your limbs and re-break them every time they heal until you do.”

As his arm healed the black faded from his eyes, as if the darkness was going down a drain in his pupils. He was still plenty pissed, but the threat of being injured repeatedly was enough to make him calm himself. Just because demons could survive major injuries and heal, it didn’t mean they hurt less; they just learned to ignore the pain, and Dean hadn’t had nearly enough time to learn.

“Now, if you’re quite done being a terrible guest, I can be of help to you.”

Dean rubbed his arm, wincing silently as it healed. “Help would have been telling me about this before you gave me the mark, not after it turned me into a Knight.”

“You haven’t killed many demons lately; I didn’t think it would become a problem. Even if you killed them at your normal pace it wouldn’t have mattered enough. But that many in that short of a time and with as enraged as you were, I’m surprised it didn’t happen faster. But really, you should be grateful. Those first two that you killed were sufficient to activate your powers enough to heal you from that gun blast. No mark and you’d be dead. Game over. No reconciling with Sam.”

Dean snarled, “How do you know about that?”

“Calm down, I have a way of finding things out, and you don’t need concern yourself beyond that. Now breathe.”

Dean took a few deep breaths, feeling the already returned hints of rage receding.

“There’s lesson number one. Control your anger. If you don’t, you’ll lose control. Given enough time you’ll learn to channel it into your new abilities and be in full control of yourself.”

“After how long?”

“Hard to say. But it’s like new vampires or new werewolves; you learn to control it with practice and time.”

Dean pulled himself up from the floor and back onto the plush sofa as his arm finished healing. “So… How exactly do I do that when I’m offing demons?”

Cain sat back down in his chair and picked his cup of tea up again to take a sip. “You have to… acclimate. You’ll be able to stay in control with small groups to start. You’ll already have enough experience to handle it. As you learn what control feels like you can move to bigger ones. Eventually you’ll be able to remain in full control. But…” he trailed off.

“But what? Got another warning you aren’t going to give me until it’s too late?”

“It’s not something I foresee being relevant.”

“Tell me.”

“Dean, it’s not pleasant, and why concern yourself with something that likely won’t affect you?”

Dean glared.

“Well,” he sighed, not really wanting to explain but also not wanting to deal with trying to calm down a pissed off Dean again. “I’m sure you know that hell operates under a hierarchy.”

“Yeah…” he trailed off. “What’s that got to do with my situation?”

“Give me a minute, you gotta understand why before you understand what. So as I said, hell operates under a hierarchy, and all the demons fall under that hierarchy. You’ve got your ruler, then his right hand men and women, then the Knights of Hell, then the Inquisitors, and so on down the line all the way to your common demons at the bottom. The oldest, highest classes have the most power, those are the Inquisitors and above… think of it like a werewolf tribe; these three classes would all be like alphas, all serving one higher alpha. You follow so far?”

“Yeah… so how’s this affect me?”

“Well, demons tend to manifest physical representations of their dominance. I’m sure when you served under Alistair you saw how his true form differed from those on the rack.”

“He… had horns. Like old school devil horns, fangs, claws… real ugly son of a bitch.”

“Exactly, and he was an Inquisitor, hence his work with the racks. But demons in human vessels only manifest one of the dominant physical traits; mostly because the human body can only undergo so much change.”

“And what is that exactly?”

Cain sighed again. “A knot.”

“A knot? What, hell’s a knitting circle now?”

“Dean, I compared the demon hierarchy to werewolves and alphas for a reason.”

Dean suddenly remembered all the information his dad had made him go over before their first werewolf hunt; diagrams of their anatomy in human and wolf form, detailing their strengths and weaknesses, all drawn by Henry Gray. (His secret work for the Men of Letters inspired him to create the same kinds of books for human anatomy.)

He remembered laughing at the thought of a knot when he’d read about it. He couldn’t have been more than 13 or 14 at the time and the concept of a dick with a swollen throbbing mass at the base seemed hilarious. Though anything related to dicks is hilarious to boys at that age. He suddenly realized that it wasn’t all that funny anymore. “You can’t be serious.”

“What would I gain from lying to you about this?”

“So, what, I can’t fuck anyone now?”

“I thought you hunters were supposed to know all about things like werewolves. They fuck plenty.”

“Yeah, but I’m not a werewolf and I’m __definitely__  not going to fuck one.”

“You just have to be more selective about your partners Dean; find someone who can handle it. Though honestly Dean, you should be more concerned with learning to control yourself rather than getting your dick wet. Arousal’s gonna get you too fired up anyway; you’d be far too rough with them.”

Dean sighed. Cain was kind of right. No, actually he was completely right. Though it’d been a bit of a dry spell for him lately and his hand was only satisfying up to a point. But it also wasn’t exactly worth getting laid if he was going to have to worry about ripping their face off. “Either way, I’m not getting any…”

“Focus hard enough on learning control and you won’t even worry about that. In fact I know of a good way for you to get practice.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah,” he picked up a newspaper from the floor next to his chair and passed it to Dean. “Look at the headline.” It read, ‘Third member of Saint Jude Parish Church commits suicide’.

“It does sound fishy.”

“It’s more than fishy. All three left notes claiming an angel told them to do it.”

“Angels may be assholes but they wouldn’t con someone into suicide; they’d do the killing themselves. They get off on it.”

“Exactly, it’s probably demons screwing around, most won’t bother with churches given the clergy would know exorcism rites, so it’s likely only one or two. Perfect for you to practice.”

Dean sat silent for a minute before speaking. “So, that’s it then? I’m a Knight of Hell now and off to kill other demons so I can learn to control my hellish powers?”

“You expect more?”

“Just seems a bit lacking in pomp and circumstance and shit for such a major thing.”

“Well, you did leap at me over a table. You can count that towards your ‘pomp and circumstance’. You can have some big to-do when you’ve got the blade, killed me with it, and ditched the mark. How about that?”

“I… I guess so.” He rubbed his knees and stood, pointing his thumb toward the door. “So.. I’ll be moseying off then.”

“Alright.” Dean headed for the door. “Oh, and Dean?” Cain called after him. Dean stopped and turned. “Don’t set foot on my property unannounced again unless you’re ready to fulfill your end of our deal or I’ll kill you.”

Dean just sneered at him and waltzed out the door and to the Impala.

Three days later he found himself undercover at Saint Jude Parish Church in Boston. He’d called the church’s head priest on the way, claiming to be a priest who’s own church had been burned down in an electrical fire and needed a place to continue his work during rebuilding. Of course the head priest was happy to accept Father Osbourne for as long as the rebuilding effort took.

Thankfully Dean hadn’t tossed out his priest outfit despite not having used it in years, keeping it with the other assorted disguises and clothing that wouldn’t fit in the Impala in a storage locker. It took a bit of ironing in his motel room the night before his first day to get it up to snuff, however; no mean feat given the barely working iron whose cord, permanently anchored to the bathroom wall, wouldn’t reach beyond the door.

It actually hadn’t taken Dean nearly as long as he’d thought it would to suss out the demonic infiltrators; one of his newfound powers seemed to be the ability to sense demons. As it turned out, the demons were more Abaddon loyalists, low down on the ladder and eager to climb. They thought getting people to kill themselves would get more souls to hell to build her army, though three people between two demons over the course of a month wasn’t going to be building any kind of grand militant forces.

Dean had lured the two demons to the church late at night under the pretense of helping him set up for a charity event the next day. Of course, being determined to keep their cover as good, contributing members of the church, they made sure to be there. As soon as they were through the door Dean let his powers take over, his eyes going black. Before the two had even had a chance to get out a shocked gasp he’d charged at them, a hand grabbing each of their faces, picking them up and slamming them to the floor on their backs. They glowed, and as the glow burst from their eyes it flowed into the glowing Mark of Cain just as before. Only this time, once he’d absorbed the energy his eyes went back to normal and he kept in control.

“Hm, that was easy.” He dragged the bodies to a nearby funeral home with a crematory via back alleys, incinerating the bodies and scattering the ashes outside to keep his tracks hidden.


End file.
